Title: ReAwakening
Author: Tsutsuji
Rating: R
Warnings: m/m sexual activity, not very explicit, and flangst (fluff+angst)
Word count: 900
Summary: The search for the White Crows awakens echoes of loss and comfort.
A/N: Set during season 3. Mentions/implies other pairings including Lawrence/Daikenja and Shinou/Rufus (and my OT3 of Conrad/Yozak/Murata, if you squint ^^). One of two fics written for the Springkink, prompt: Conrad/Murata: Nightmares - "The more things change, the more things stay the same" (The other is "The Darkness.")
Even good dreams can be nightmares, memories of things forever gone and so far out of reach that you wake up gasping as if your heart has been crushed.
Murata is soothed out of the nightmare by the touch of a gentle hand caressing his hair. He knows before he opens his eyes that it's Conrad Weller's hand, and before he's awake enough to think about it, he turns his head to lean into the touch.
When he does pry his eyes open, he's looking right up into a gentle smile lightly edged with worry. A smile that's as familiar as the images in a dream, not from Jeneus' memories but from Daikenja's own life.
He knows Conrad won't ask what the nightmare was about, although he would readily listen if Murata told him. But the memory of Jeneus' desperate sorrow, brought to the surface by this secret journey to Greater Shimaron, has already started to crumble into fragments. As the concern fades from Conrad's eyes so that only the smile remains, that dream memory is replaced by an even older one of another Weller who also would have listened to Daikenja's secret grief, but didn't need to ask.
Nothing was said of the reason, either then or this time. Murata didn't know, didn't need to ask, if the sadness lurking at the corners of Conrad Weller's eyes was an echo, a mirror image, of the way Lawrence Weller had watched the bearer of the original king's heir silently, from a distance, just as Conrad Weller's eyes follow the Maou.
Daikenja had already lost Shinou to Wolfram von Bielefeld's ancestor, and had finally realized he was going to loose him to the darkness as well, when Lawrence Weller happened to find him alone, staring at nothing with dry, reddened eyes. That time, just as now, Lord Weller didn't ask, doesn't need to know why he was in need of comfort, but simply let him take what he needed. So when Daikenja needed to be touched, Lawrence gave him that, and now Conrad is only briefly surprised when Murata pulls him closer.
Murata can't really be sure - as both dreams and memories fade and he comes more awake in the present - if Conrad Weller's skin and breath taste the same as his ancestor's did, sweet and hot with only a hint of hesitation. He is certain that there is the same care and patience in the touch of the other man's hands in deference to his own inexperienced body, both in this present life and in Daikenja's memory.
Inexperienced, but knowledgeable enough in his present incarnation to give Conrad as much pleasure as he receives. His bold and deliberate touch startles Conrad into pulling back, brows furrowed in question even though his body responds readily. Murata wonders if it's really entirely impossible for Weller to think of his own needs, or even admit to having them.
"Your Highness?" Conrad queries in a hushed, uncertain voice.
Murata winces at the title before he can catch himself, but Conrad is attentive enough to notice, and wise enough to understand: he doesn't want to be anyone but himself right now.
"Murata," Conrad corrects himself, holding Murata's hand in place on his hardening arousal. "Is this all right?"
Murata closes his hand on Conrad, gently but firmly, and pushes himself up, closer.
"Yes, it is... Lord Weller," Murata says. The whispered name echoes like sound in a dream. Conrad's lips brush against his, then open on a sigh when Murata moves his hand.
For a while after that, there is only the sound of their breaths, the soft rustle of clothing and then of sheets sliding across bare skin. No words, and no more questions.
Murata pushes aside the aching memory that woke him in favor of sensation, relishing Conrad's solid presence, his almost familiar warmth and taste, and the welcome weight of another body against his own. He comes fairly quickly, not trying to control himself or prolong the pleasure. His own voice sounds startlingly breathless and young, muffled against Conrad's shoulder.
Conrad nearly matches his urgency. He follows soon after with his own climax, but Murata knows that he was holding back and waiting for him.
They end up almost as they started, with Murata hovering between sleep and wakefulness and Conrad stroking his hair, but now they're lying next to each other, skin against skin, under the sheets.
---
Hours later, Yozak quietly - out of habit if nothing else - opens the door to the rented room. Dim, early light filters through closed blinds; strips of soft light and shadow fall across the bed. It takes him a moment to make out the huddled shape under the sheets, and the tousled hair, brown next to black, on the pillow.
With a silent sigh, he rests his cheek against his fist that holds the door open, and just watches them for a minute. The little frown pulling at the corner of his eyes disappears quickly under an indulgent smile; his blue eyes gleam, looking down at the two of them, fiercely protective.
He thinks of waking them, then of joining them, then shakes his head and closes the door even more quietly than he opened it.
"Sweet dreams," he says softly, smiling, as he walks away to continue the hunt for a ghost that he guesses the Great Sage would rather not raise at all.
~~ end ~~